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“Jill.”
The memory of his breath upon her ear stirred her as she woke in her cabin aboard The Enterprise. Her limbs stretched a bit under her covers as awareness crept its way into her muscles by where they were attached from bone to bone. Only a night before, warm and calloused hands moved restlessly at her back and shoulders, and then later rather urgently to her buttocks and thighs, then to the backs of her legs. At one point, he’d grasped her by her ankle with a hot-mouthed kiss to the bony prominence there.
In the present, her hands splayed soothingly across the skin underneath her shift according to her recollection of the recent memory. She imagined briefly that her hands were his, and she shuddered at the thought of the brush of his long fingers.
Neither of them had realized that by their calmness and composure once rescued by Mid and her vessel after barely escaping with their lives from Barnabas, that it would translate to reality to those onboard so accurately. There was food prepared for them below deck-- and it wasn’t until it was laid before them that they realized they were famished, and all it took was one crass remark about their appetite from Gav to elicit such an awkward response from them both, for the truth to become apparent for all to see.
Only two years before, Clive had sustained an injury to his forearm that required the suturing of Tarja’s curved needle. The physicker had admonished him for the entire duration of the procedure, dabbing at Clive’s wound with her rag amidst harsh words. Jill only smiled as she listened to it, leaning against a rough wooden beam in the infirmary as she watched the stitches being made. Clive’s eyes had occasionally strayed to Jill’s in the middle of Tarja’s firm sentences, sheepish even in their hue of the deepest blue.
Clive had earned every single syllable of the scolding, evidenced by the animalistic cry he let out just hours later when he departed with Jill to quell a disturbance on the road toward Sanbreque against Tarja’s orders. His wound had dehisced; split completely at the seams that were neatly sewn together earlier and was left bleeding and open under his sleeve. When the beasts were put to rest and Clive wiped his blade off on their flesh, Jill’s eyes strayed to his forearm.
“Tarja is never going to let me hear the end of it!” Clive lamented fitfully through clenched teeth as he threw his head upward towards the sky as if to curse whatever gods dwelled there that he never cared to acknowledge in any other circumstance. His angst over the impending consequences of his actions would have been amusing, were it not for the dark red blood that trickled in thick little rivulets from his wound that he then exposed for his own inspection; the insides of his flesh were there, open and angry for all eyes to see. Clive immediately squeezed his opposite hand to it to hold pressure.
Jill knelt to open their sack of supplies, tucking stray hairs behind one ear as she fished for the instruments Tarja had once entrusted to her. She felt Clive’s curious eyes on her from behind. “I may not have Tarja’s skill, but…” She rose with a rolled sheet of leather tied with a string. “I can try.”
Dark hair was plastered to his face with sweat. Bright blue eyes contrasted sharply against it as he looked to her, his expression wide-eyed and clearly taken aback as his chest heaved to catch his breath.
“You know how?” Clive’s eyes moved skeptically the leather bound package in her hand.
Jill shrugged, motioning for him to sit by waving her hand toward the ground. “I’ve watched Tarja enough that she felt it prudent to entrust me with my own needle.” She lowered herself to her knees before where he’d obediently sunk to the ground. “Consider it a certain benefit to spending so much time in the infirmary.” Jill added wryly.
Clive was quick to prop himself by his good arm and lay his wounded limb upon a bent knee. His opposite leg was flush with the ground, tossed carelessly off to the side so that Jill had as much space to work over him as she needed. There was a certain innocence to his eager trust in her-- she’d noticed it first when she saw him following her deliverance from the Iron Blood: how his voice inflected a bit to touch a note he’d reserved only for her.
There was far more to it than his voice, however. There were many wine bottles shared, and tender glances offered in an almost secretive manner. With all his movements that were abrasive and blunt, toward her they were more deliberate and almost… delicate.
And lately then, there was the softness of his breath at the back her neck when they slept side by side in his bedchambers. There was nothing more that took place during those nights of their close quarters other than pragmatic words and perhaps a tuck of her hair behind her ear the with lingering graze of his thumb against her cheek, but their shared intimacy was deeper than that of physical pleasures that lovers typically expressed.
That wasn’t to say that she didn’t think about it.
What it would be like with him.
Clive’s focus on any given task was razor sharp and precise. What would it be like, she would wonder selfishly, for his attentions to be honed on her body? If the attention to detail he’d displayed in his swordsmanship translated to touches that made her sigh and forget herself entirely? If his hands, that could kill countless numbers of man and beast, became tools to overwhelm her senses while unhindered by propriety?
Jill swallowed then with heated cheeks. She could not think of such things in that moment. She knelt between his knees, leaning over where his wound bled freely before her. She pressed a rag firmly to stave off more blood loss, and poured water from a gourd in an attempt to cleanse it. Then, she took a curved needle from the leather bundle and, recalling the subtle movements of Tarja’s wrist when the physicker drove a needle into flesh, Jill pressed the tip of the needle into the flash at the tip of Clive’s wound bed.
It took several tries of pushing and pulling the needle in and out of Clive’s sinewy arm to get the angle so that the tip of the needle emerged appropriately on the opposite side of the laceration. A fresh stream of blood dripped downward-- a testament to her lack of experience in such efforts. But if it hurt him as Jill suspected it had, he made no indication. Her grey eyes flickered to his in silent apology under furrowed brows. Instead of the pained grimace she might have anticipated, he greeted her with a serene expression, focused only on her. He then immediately cast his gaze toward the ground.
Jill shakily tied off the first suture, and clipped the ends with Tarja’s shears. She drove the curved needle into her next destination further along the wound, with less struggle this time as she recalled the right angle of her fingers and her wrist and just how much force it took to cleanly puncture Clive’s skin.
She worked silently, focused on the task at hand. Occasionally, she felt his eyes on her hands, but she acted as if she paid no notice. His bleed slowed and coagulated, rendering stickiness to her touch on his skin. His blood collected in the little grooves in the swirling pads of her fingers, highlighting the prominence of her knuckles and fingernail beds with his dark red essence.
Jill didn’t mind it. There was a new sense of satisfaction as she closed the seams of his flesh again, leaving him sewn up and whole.
“Run it by me again.” Clive’s low voice was met with the contrast of Mid’s exasperated girlish sigh. The Enterprise swayed at sea, but by the masterpiece of Mid’s design, none of them was particularly subjected to it unless they stood on the deck. Below it, in the meeting room, they were only surrounded by still torch light and dark wood.
Mid groaned. “Are ya tryin to be smart with me, Clive? Should I throw in more words to get the same thing out, like Vivian?”
“Not just Clive. Vivian does explain things better.” Gav shrugged over a mug of ale as he squinted down at the map.
Clive’s knuckles drummed a bit against the table. His eyes were hardened and fixed.
“Perhaps it is a matter for the morning.” Jill felt the need to interject. She sat beside Clive, facing Gav. The scout looked to her with an ever grateful eye-- that he’d readily reminded them he only had one of, as of late.
Jill turned to Clive. He nodded in agreement. Mid shook her head, mumbling something about the emptiness of a beggar’s purse. Or, a bag of turnips. Jill wasn’t quite sure if she heard her correctly.
Their minds were still freshly hazy from the blighted beach. She found herself brimming with words or something like them beside him, yet unable to properly express such things in a room full of comrades.
Clive rose from his stool, and Jill found her cheeks heated excessively as her eyes inadvertently settled just below his belt line as he passed her for a lingering moment, clearly in plain sight for the rest of the room to see.
On the beach, Jill’s name escaped his lips in a muffled cry against her flesh when he first buried himself inside of her. Tears came at the corners of her eyes. Whether they were conjured by the vulnerability she’d offered him, or by the strain of her body to accommodate his, or a combination of both, she’d never fully comprehend.
His breath was hot upon her neck and he’d held her with such reverence of a man supping at an altar of a deity he’d prayed to for all of his days. It was such a stark contrast to the manner in which he’d thrusted within her: controlled and careful, and then, seemingly possessed.
In her bed on The Enterprise, she stilled in remembrance. Deep inside, her body still ached from the impact of it, as if sensing the tenderness of a bruise she’d not yet realized. The palm of her hand lay flat upon her belly, her white shift hiked up toward her waist. She stared up at the ceiling, restless. The chandelier swayed ever so slightly from the waters beneath her.
She’d watched his hands with mild fascination as he’d helped Gav lower a barrel of supplies from the top shelf earlier that day. She’d found her watching him even more closely than she ever had, even as a curious and naive young girl watching a strapping boy hone his swordsmanship in the bailey.
Jill had grown quite familiar with his movements from those days: the slight kick of his heel in the dirt as he established his initial stance, the manner his which his abdomen contracted and rotated with a parry, and the exhale through his teeth with the first swing.
Now, she knew that body in an intimate and visceral manner. His heel twisted itself into hers, his abdomen stretched and contracted in every angle possible to drive himself further inside of her, the exhale between his teeth hissed into her ear.
Her toes twitched at the thought of it.
Clive’s cabin was just on the other side of the wall from her head. Jill blinked in the dim light, and sighed, kicking back her covers restlessly. What was it that kept her there? Regard for conventionalism? She scoffed at the thought. The entire Hideaway knew that she often shared Clive’s bed. Perhaps, some of them assumed they’d partaken of one another long ago.
She rose and swung her bare feet to the floor. It felt unnatural to be without him. She circled the small bed and walked to the cabin door, sliding the latch that kept it shut. The hall of the ship was lit only by a single torch at night; maneuvering a vessel such as The Enterprise was a nonstop endeavor, even at such a late hour. However, the hall was empty save for Torgal, who slept curled into a perfect circle while keeping watch over the stairs that led up to the deck above.
Jill approached the door where Clive was surely sleeping soundly inside, and tapped her knuckles to it twice. It was a far more of a timid sound than she intended. Perhaps, there was a part of her that wasn’t sure if she meant for him to hear it.
But to her surprise, there was no delay. There was no lingering minute of Clive stirring from her disruption-- of rolling over and sluggishly answering the door with his eyes still heavy with sleep.
Jill should have anticipated such brevity, for Clive never slept that soundly. His response was prompt as he swung the door open swiftly enough to cause her breath to stutter.
Clive’s eyes widened a bit, as if registering that it was her who stood before him, as opposed to some other anticipated guest. His lips parted and his top teeth moved forward slightly, as if preparing to say her name. He diverted, pressing his lips firmly together instead. He only stepped backward to accommodate opening the door a bit wider. To her relief, he offered her the brief nod of his head toward his side, signaling that he was bidding her to enter.
Jill took his wordless invitation without hesitation. As she passed him, she could see him in her periphery, hurriedly combing his dark hair with his fingers in some feeble attempt to look less unkempt. She stepped inside his quarters that were identical to the one that she left, save for the bed and table with two chairs being arranged on opposite ends of the room. There was a mirror, a luxury not afforded to her own cabin affixed to the wall facing the bed.
Jill took in the state of the cabin, crossing her arms somewhat defensively around the front of her waist as she looked around. She stepped forward one stride deeper into the room as she heard Clive close the door and slide the latch shut behind him.
The table across the from the bed was littered with missives, a map, and a half-empty bottle of ink with a quill laid to rest sloppily across parchment with Clive’s neat penmanship cut short next to a nearly empty cup of wine. She hadn’t disturbed him from sleep, it seemed.
Clive’s hand still rested on the latch at the door as Jill turned around to face him, seemingly pinning his arm in place behind him. His chest raised and lowered slowly, as if taking a deep breath to face her. But in the space between them, it was as if all air had escaped from the reach of their lungs.
At least, temporarily.
They stood watching one another for a moment. His eyes moved over her in some silent appraisal. Words swam through Jill’s mind.
Would it be best if she were to conjure an excuse for disturbing him?
No. He knew dishonestly on her features like he knew his own hands.
Should she say good night and promptly leave as suddenly as she came?
He was standing in her way. His hand was still fixed to the latch.
His eyes moved from the crown of her head to the neckline of her bedclothes. They were as gentle as they were ominous.
Instead, she did the only thing that made sense. She stepped forward, her eyes meeting his.
Clive breathed deeply again. His hand fell free from the door latch and swung at his side as if it were suddenly made lame. His eyes held so much emotion, as if watching her for the first time.
Jill stepped forward again. This time, Clive caught her in his arms. He pressed her against him with a long arm at her waist, and another to cradle her head tenderly. His forehead pressed to hers.
“Look at us.” Jill reveled aloud. The corners of Clive's lips curled into something like a smile in the soft light of a bedside candle: a sight not noted often.
He pressed his lips to the bridge of her nose. Her eyes slipped shut.
“I thought you’d never come.” His voice was rough as it penetrated through the thin fibers of his tunic over his chest to her shift that covered hers.
‘I wasn’t sure if I should.’ She meant to say.
“I wasn’t sure.” She condensed her words instead. Clive nodded a bit, swaying somewhat as he held her close, as if her abbreviated sentence made perfect sense. Jill pressed her head past his lips and turned to press her ear against his chest. Her eyes focused to the map of the Twins nailed to the far wall. Clive tucked his chin over the top of her head, his thick facial stubble combing through her fine silvery strands.
“I wasn’t sure how you wanted to be… after last night.” Her words were condensed again. She couldn’t bring herself to elaborate, delegating him to read between her words instead.
“It was… only something I’ve always wanted with you.” Clive’s voice vibrated against the top of her head. Jill lifted her ear from his chest and looked up at him skeptically.
“Er, since I was a young lad at least.” Clive confessed, maintaining his hold on her.
“You did not.” Jill nearly chuckled from the incredulousness of it all. “You were always so… polite. And chivalrous. I don’t recall a maid so much as breathing in your direction without you becoming embarrassed by it.”
Clive sighed deeply. “I recall was particularly embarrassed by the thought of you breathing in my direction.” He confessed.
It was a strange statement. Perhaps even one that would have put a woman off, in another context. But Jill only smiled, inching back from him, gaining the confidence to slide her hands up from under his hold, and hook her thumbs under the straps of her shift.
“Would you have wanted this, now… ?” Jill spoke in a near whisper, her voice inflecting almost awkwardly to punctuate the delicacy of the question. She felt his breath hitch for a moment. The air in the room appeared to stiffen further. She looked upwards and into his eyes and for a moment, she saw the gentle fifteen-year-old boy that stole her away bound for Mann’s Hill.
But he wasn’t that young boy anymore. His eyes were beautiful still, though heavy. They were even a bit sad when she looked at them in a certain light. When he semi-primed, they glowed like embers that threatened to reduce her to ash. He was holding his breath. Jill lifted and pulled the garment over her head entirely. She had to interest in torturing him at that moment.
Clive’s lips immediately collided with hers, threatening to inhale her completely. Jill breathed with him, desperately seeking to meet the sudden demand of his tongue brushing hers. Last night, everything had been slow, tender, and sweet. Tonight was uncharted territory.
There was not an hour aboard The Enterprise thus far that she had not touched her fingers to her lips, remembering his kiss, nor his hands to her skin, remembering how he gripped her and filled her and oh…
She sighed into him, briefly lamenting how they were required to part so that she could lift his tunic over his shoulders and toss it to the floor. His arms resumed their hold on her, his fingers raking from the bottom of her scalp and gripping her just a bit roughly as he yanked her face upwards by her hair to meet his.
She touched her hand to his chest as she met the demand of his kisses and felt Shiva flutter within him as she had within herself. A shared burden: a deal struck in admitted desperation on a blighted beach of a doomed continent.
None of that mattered, not anymore. Shiva’s Kiss hung about his neck-- the lone memento of her homeland for him to keep. Clive’s hands hooked under her knees and lifted her effortlessly by the backs of her thighs. His skin was hot against hers, hotter than she recalled from the night before.
There would be a time in the future, when Mid’s ship was docked and they returned safely to the Hideaway, when, Jill would be back in the communal bath that the women shared. She would be stripped of her clothing and immersed in the warm water heated by Mid’s ingenuity: fully vulnerable and unable to escape as the two giggling younger ladies would finally reveal what exactly it was that had them giddy from the moment she’d entered the bath.
“Do tell us, Jill. Put our speculations to rest!” The blonde one, Nelle would blurt out, “How….” She was unable to finish her sentence amidst her laughter as her naked friend slapped at her shoulder playfully before looking Jill in the eye to finish her friend’s sentence for her:
“How was he?”
In the present, Jill pulled back for a moment, touching her forehead to his as her free hand remained clasped about the pendant around his neck. “I am with you to the end, now. You see that, don’t you?” She breathed. Her eyes narrowed as he seemed to struggle with giving her an appropriate answer.
Clive only nodded as he lowered her to the bed, his free hand moving with urgency in between them to undo the ties at his waist.
“Say it.” Jill commanded firmly, releasing her hold on the pendant about his neck so that it swung over her as if she were a babe in a crib.
Clive’s eyes snapped to hers in utter sincerity. Blue, slightly steely, like the ocean waves that churned beneath them.
“You are with me to the end.” Clive repeated back to her somewhat reluctantly, however dutifully. He pushed inside of her as if to sign the oath with blood. The air from her chest was pushed from her lips, and she could only exhale into his mouth as he pushed himself inside of her again and again.
Shiva’s Kiss on a chain about his neck swung wildly, repeatedly striking her on the tip of her nose. At last, Jill caught it in her fist and pushed it behind his head. Clive’s head burrowed into her neck and she arched off the bed invitingly for him, contorting herself so that she could see herself wanton in the mirror facing the bed. Clive pumped into her unabashedly, as he would seemingly one thousand times after that night. Her lips parted, she greedily admired the muscular ripples of his back that accommodated her pendant, and the sinew that glided smoothly under his skin to deliver her pleasure.
She watched in the mirror’s reflection as Clive’s hand intertwined with hers and he pinned her hand over her head as he took the peak of her breast into his mouth. The scar from the wound she’d stitched was prominent in its linear glory, a reminder of the time when she’d witnessed his flesh come apart as well as all the agony that went along with it and she’d attempted to reassemble the seams of him. He was oblivious to how she watched him in the mirror, as he was evidently completely lost in her.
Jill knew that he gave her this, because for everything that was demanded of him for the moment, it was all he could afford to give her. Anything more would simply be agony.